Chapter 62
Ethan
I clench my hands into fists on top of my thighs.
This bench is uncomfortable, but the uneven boards below my ass aren’t enough to distract me from the shouts and the fucking shrill whistle sounds coming from the lawyer’s office.
I should’ve gone in there with Tilda.
Should’ve insisted.
Because whatever is going down isn’t going down smoothly.
Obviously, her nasty family members weren’t going to be happy about Tilda inheriting everything. Or almost everything.
But to yell?
I’m a bastard. A grumpy piece of shit most of the time. But I can’t imagine a single scenario that would make me shout at a family member.
That whistle sounds again, and I turn my head toward the closed door.
How loud must that be inside the fucking office?
Silence follows.
I glance down at my watch.
The plane should be refueled and ready to go by now.
I’ll see if Tilda wants to do a quick stop for food on the way back to the airport. Maybe I’ll take her to that burrito place I like. We can get them to go. Eat them in the air above the clouds.
It’s my favorite meal.
And when we’re back home, maybe I can ask to come over.
Maybe we can—
The door to the office swings open and slams into the wall.
My wildlife training once again comes in handy as I don’t react to the stampede of Wrights—or whatever their names are—as they pour out into the hall.
And head straight for me.
Slowly, I straighten my spine and loosen my fists.
“Is this him?” One of the horrible women points at me. “I thought this was your driver?”
Ignoring her, I keep my attention on the door.
More people file out.
But none of them are my girl.
My jaw clenches.
But then pretty purple hair appears, and I stand.
Her eyes are wide.
Her teeth are digging into her lower lip.
And her fingers are twisted into the top tier of her skirt.
Matilda is nervous.
And I don’t like that.
The need to be near her takes over, and I step forward.
Tilda’s mother moves to stand right beside her daughter.
Matilda still looks worried. And stressed. But my Firecracker shoots a glare at her mother before taking a step to the side, so their shoulders are no longer touching.
But then Tilda’s mother puts her hands on her hips, flaring her elbows out so she’s once again touching her daughter.
Before she can lose it, I reach out and grip Tilda’s wrist, causing her to let go of her skirt.
I tug her to me, and Tilda moves so she’s standing at my side.
Close enough that our arms touch.
Her mother flits her gaze down to where I’m still holding Tilda’s wrist. Then she narrows her eyes at me. “Are you really here to marry Matilda?”
Under my hold, Tilda’s muscles twitch.
But I continue to stare at her mother.
Am I really here to marry Matilda?
She’s not saying it like some wild guess.
She’s saying it like an allegation.
Like Matilda told her that’s what I’m here for.
Am I here to marry Matilda?
Her skin is warm against mine, and I can feel her pulse thumping under my touch.
I remember the feel of her under me.
I remember the sounds she made against my mouth.
I remember the way she reached for me when she was scared on the plane.
And I remember Jack asking me to keep an eye on his Matty.
Remember his letter.
So, if Tilda is claiming that we’re here to get married…
I slide my grip lower, so our hands are palm to palm. “What business is it of yours?”
Tilda reaches across her body and grips our combined hands with her free one. “Mother, I already told you. We’re getting married this weekend.”
“Where?” The older woman glares at us.
“Again,” I say slowly, like she didn’t understand the words last time. “What business is it of yours?”
Mother Wright presses a hand to her chest. “If you think I’m going to allow you to marry my daughter—”
“Allow me?” I give my head a slow shake as the side of my mouth pulls up into a smirk. “That’s not how this works.”
The woman sneers at me. “If you think—”
“I think that for as long as I’ve known Tilda, I’ve never met you.” She doesn’t know the length of time is approximately a week. And she doesn’t ask. She just assumes. I drop my smirk. “So, I hardly think your permission or blessing or even presence is of importance here.”
Mother Wright looks like she wants to claw my eyes out.
I have half a heartbeat to wonder if I’ve gone too far, but then Tilda makes a little squeaking sound. And I know it’s her suppressing a laugh.
Knowing I haven’t offended Tilda, and taking it as permission to keep being a dick, my body relaxes.
The other woman, who I believe is Tilda’s aunt, crosses her arms. “We’re coming as witnesses.”
Tilda’s purple curls brush my arm as she shakes her head. “No. I don’t want any of you there.”
One of the older men gasps.
I look down at Tilda. “Are they always this horrible?”
Her eyes are filled with an emotion that looks a lot like appreciation as she meets my gaze. “Always.”
I make a sound. “I see why you’ve never introduced us.”
Someone new gasps this time, and I lift a brow.
Tilda presses her lips together.
“We aren’t just going to take your word for it, Ma-tilda. So if you’re going to insist on marrying this man, then we’re going to insist on being your witnesses.” Disdain laces each of her mother’s words.
Tilda and I continue to look at each other.
“Will they stick around if we wait to get married tomorrow, as planned?” I ask, assuming a Saturday wedding was a part of the lie.
Tilda blows out a breath as she nods. “Afraid so.”
Something happened in that room, with that lawyer, that is making it imperative for us to marry.
Or, at least, for Tilda to marry.
And I’m here.
The only option.
Convenient.
I stare into her captivating eyes. And I don’t have to take time to think about it. If Tilda has to get married, she’s not getting married to anyone else.
This might be an irrational decision, but whatever we do can be undone.
And if it can’t…
I flex my fingers around hers.
“It’s up to you, Firecracker. We marry tomorrow and have these clowns on our heels for twenty-four hours. Or we can find the closest chapel and get married right now.”
“Threat to the natural order?” she whispers up at me.
I dip my chin. “Every damn day.”
Her nose flares as she inhales.
I’ve never been able to read anyone like I can read Tilda.
Her eyes are filling with hesitancy. And I know she wants to talk to me. I can feel her need to explain herself.
But we can’t do that here. Not in front of her family.
So, I raise my brows. “Today, then?”
The tip of her pink tongue slides out and wets her lips. “You’re sure?”
Sure I want to call you Wife?
Sure I want to drag my thumb across your lip where your tongue just was?
Sure I want to be reckless in a way I’ve never been reckless before?
Sure I want to be your Good Boy…
I lean in closer until our mouths are just inches apart. “I’m sure, Starlight.”
Tilda squeezes my hand, and her exhale dances across my lips.
“How do we know this isn’t some kinda setup?” A male voice cuts into our moment.
I turn to face the man.
He’s in his thirties.
Average like the rest of this group.
I tip my head toward the man. “This him?”
Tilda sighs. “Yeah. That’s my cousin Ralph.”
I hum. Then I let go of Tilda’s hand.